


Death of a Soldier

by rangerofdiscord



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Pain, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerofdiscord/pseuds/rangerofdiscord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short drabble about the death of Cinna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death of a Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, three and a half years ago, I wrote a short lil drabble in art about Cinna's death. Years later, and my writing has improved and with the end of The Hunger Games I decided to rewrite the drabble. It's shorter than the original, but quality over quantity.

A loud groan echoed throughout the cement chamber as the beaten, bloodied man slowly opened his eyes. With another groan, albeit softer this time, Cinna glanced around his surroundings, trying to understand them. Trying to remember where he was, what had happened. 

The first realization was the most obvious one. He was imprisoned, and would most likely be tortured to death. That he had known from the first moment he had begun sketching Katniss' wedding dress. 

The second realization was that the cell felt much too different from what he had expected. He had expected cold, moist and mossy cement with cracks reaching down it's crumbling gray walls. Hell, he had even had nightmares about the way water sounded when it dripped down onto cement. But no, this cell was a bright, almost blinding pure white, with one light shining down and illuminating the cell. 

Busted lips pursed into a frown as Cinna tried to adjust himself, tried to get more comfortable. They hadn't done anything to him, apparently. Hadn't changed his clothes, or anything. Just beaten him till he had been knocked out and dragged him to the cell he would die in. 

Suddenly, footsteps echo in the hall outside of the tiny, cramped room and he scrambled to his feet. Even in death, he would do his best to be dignified. He would not let the Capitol break him as they had done so many others. 

With each step, his impending death came closer and closer and as the door opened, he took a deep breath. Two Peacekeepers filed in, guns at the ready as President Snow stepped in after them. One brow was raised at this, and as the door was shut behind them, Cinna mockingly took a bow, just like he had the night of the interview. The night he had sealed his fate. 

“I am honored that the great ruler of Panem has come to oversee my inevitable torture and death.” He said, voice thick with sarcasm and Snow just stared down at him distastefully. Blues eyes dart over to the Peacekeeper to his left, and without hesitation the man brings his leg up right into Cinna's stomach. 

Grunting, the stylist doubled over, hands over his stomach. “Make sure he stays awake. I want our special stylist to be able to answer a few questions from me.” A gloved hand grabbed Cinna's chin, forcing the man to look up at his enemy. The stylist just chuckled, even though the action clearly caused him a great deal of pain. 

“I'm not about to tell you anything, Snow. I know what my fate is, and nothing can save me, can it?” He smirked as Snow's lips twitched in frustration. “Why keep me alive when killing me would make such a nice point to Katniss?” 

If Snow had an answer to that, he didn't say it as he straightened up, glancing at his Peacekeepers. “If he decides to share anything, let me know immediately. If not well..” He shrugged. “You know what to do.” 

As he leaves, one of the Peacekeepers, the one who kicked Cinna, stepped forward and grabbed the man, leaning in. His breath was hot on the other man's cheek, sour and vile and the look on his face was purely sadistic. “What shall we do first?” He growled, his voice excited and it was at that moment that Cinna realized that Snow had chosen his two most twisted Peacekeepers to ensure that every moment was pure pain. Pure torture. So be it. In the end, it would be worth it. For her. For Panem. 

“Make sure he can't get away.” The second Peacekeeper set his gun down, walking forward as the first one forced Cinna down, and the second raised his leg, bringing it down with such force that the bone snapped in two. Screams echoed off the chamber wall, mixed in with sick, twisted laughter. 

Hours later, Cinna was nothing more than a broken, bleeding pulp on the stained white floor. Each breath he took in was excruciating, and they seemed to get smaller and more hollow. Both of his legs were broken, and his drawing hand was incredibly mutilated, jutting out at an awkward angle. To the former stylist, the world was just a dull haze. He could barely feel the pain anymore, it had all drawn back. Like a tsunami, it pulled out, waiting to rush in and sweep throughout his body. 

Memories started to flicker through his mind, and it was then that he realized that he was dying, that he only had moments left. His swollen eyes flickered shut, and the blaring white and red chamber disappeared as his life flashed before his eyes. His mother, teaching him the tools of the trade. Her deft, nimble hands showing him the best way to do a cross-stitch. The way Thirteen was before the pox, how full of life and energy it was. 

And of course, Katniss. Beautiful, radiant Katniss. Twirling and setting Panem ablaze with her fire, her passion. Slowly turning into the Mockingjay, a symbol of rebellion. A pang of pain rushes through him as he realizes he'll never see her reach her full potential, but it's quickly overcome as he remembers that at least this way, she'll always be immortalized in his mind as her Mockingjay. 

Breathing becomes harder, and all of the sudden it stops as his heart stops beating. Life ebbs away from his body, and as the last spark leaves his mind, his last thought is of his Mockingjay, twirling one more time for him.


End file.
